


Planning On It

by its_mike_kapufty



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Don't copy to another site, Lingerie, M/M, Mythical Secret Santa 2019, Pining, Unrequited Love, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:01:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21804133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_mike_kapufty/pseuds/its_mike_kapufty
Summary: If Link is going to reveal how he feels, it has to be perfect.Easy enough; he'll just plot out their trip to the last painstaking detail—namely, the right moment to confess.The only factor Linkcan'tcontrol is Rhett.
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal
Comments: 25
Kudos: 117
Collections: Mythical Secret Santa 2019





	Planning On It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thisiscyrene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisiscyrene/gifts).



> Cyrene! 👋 Yay, I finally get to reveal that I'm your Secret Santa! c:  
> Here's your gift! I tried to squish together a few of the items on your Niceties, and this was the result. I had a lot of fun with it, as you might imagine. You gave me a great list to work with!  
> Merry Mythimas, lovely! I hope you enjoy. 🌴❤️️

_I did it._

_We’re really here._

The ice cubes in Link’s glass tinkle together when he takes another sip and gazes out over the veranda. The breathtaking horizon consists of the yolky sun sparkling atop endless ocean, all too grand. It requires constant reality checks to appreciate it in the moment.

 _“The view is like a freaking computer wallpaper,”_ one Yelper had boasted, and they’d been right on the money. Vivid bursts of blossoms and budding blooms play flower girl all the way down to the pristine white sand, where aquamarine tides kiss the land. Bowed palm trees are but fragile pinpricks in the distance, doing their best to guard the water’s unmuddled beauty.

This bar is a far throw from the tourist traps speckling the city, but that’s kinda the point. It had been easy convincing Rhett to come here by vouching for its authenticity, showing him judiciously cherry-picked reviews that claimed it was a well-kept local secret. Forget the shoreside shacks that pumped out oysters and tropical cocktails for 12 bucks a pop; this establishment sits over it all. 

“Y’think these are a fire hazard?”

If not for his haze of alcohol, Link might’ve startled and sloshed his drink. Instead, he simply turns to lean languid against the banister and finds Rhett with a fresh whiskey, pointing up to one of many flaming sconces on the wall. He’s wearing that little whiskered smirk that says _humor me?_

“I’m sure they’ve been here long enough that if anything was gonna happen…” Link trails off and shrugs out over the rest of the bar. The dim interior of the venue illuminated exclusively by torchlight hums with hushed chatter. Cushy couches low to the ground hold couples leaning close to one another, some sharing sopes off coffee tables. 

_Can see why I had to wade through so many reviews mentionin’ the “romantic atmosphere.”_

_Wonder if Rhett’s noticed it...?_

Clocking him out of the corner of his eye, Link lets his gaze roam greedily over his best friend’s profile: those wild sugar-gold curls, kissed by the past two days in the tropics; the faint tan-line on his temple from his sunglasses’ earpiece that somehow looks intentional; the colorful button-up that had been fastened throughout the day, now undone by drink to reveal his trim white tank top.

Link’s meander over Rhett stops on his drink. This is his… third, maybe? He’s a big guy, so it does take a few more to feel it, but getting him wasted absolutely _isn’t_ part of the plan. Link had just wanted him to… loosen up. Be a little more susceptible to not bolting at the slightest mood shift.

Spinning and missing the hopefully-casual smirk Link gives him, Rhett turns his contented attention to the sunset. Funny, how whenever Rhett _must_ know he’s being watched, that’s when he seems most at peace. The bales of orange and yellow that fall over his tropic-warmed face and neck…

_He looks like he belongs here._

_Hopefully, with me._

Were Link braver, he’d take out his phone and snap a photo of him, but that once-innocent action would be too telling of his thoughts; these days they only take pics of one another for social media, which is strictly banned for the week.

“Can’t believe we’re really here,” Rhett murmurs, giving Link an easy out from his fugue.

Link smiles and traces his sight to the shoreline again. “Believe it. We needed a break, man. If we went another month without taking our noses from the grindstone, we’d be noseless.” Link splays a flat palm in front of his face, crossing his eyes to look at it. “ _Shwoop._ Woulda sheared ‘em clean off.”

“Hah.” Sighing deep, Rhett leans on the veranda’s railing and speaks to the sea itself, his words loitering in a way that makes Link worry he’s drank too much. “It just… seemed kinda out of the blue? We’ve never done anything like this before. I’m sure the crew’s happy to get a paid vacation outta nowhere, but…” One more sigh and Rhett cocks his head to squint at Link. “Did Stevie _really_ send you the information for this travel deal?”

Link plays off the dangerous question with an airy chuckle, nodding. “Yep.” _Only ‘cause I confided in her that I was thinkin’ about somethin’ like this, anyway._ “She said we should take a break. This was her idea.” _That’s_ a lie.

Rhett taps his finger on the rim of his glass and purses his lips back and forth thoughtfully, swishing his mustache. 

“‘Kay.”

It’s hard not to pick at why Rhett had asked, but if Link digs he might accidentally reveal more about his _own_ motives. With immense self-restraint he drops it and settles for leaning alongside him to watch the sun dip farther under the horizon. Their shoulders touch without thought, and it’s comforting—to be able to have this much and identify the line between _normal_ and _terrifying leap._

Side by side, they watch the sky dim in a burst of saltwater colors that aren’t quite matched back home. Minutes pass freely; Link doesn’t care to quantify them in any method past the gentle rustling of the breeze through fronds, the tinny music from a muted jukebox somewhere in the bar, or the gradual weight Rhett puts on his shoulder, leaning into him without meaning to.

Link distracts himself with the same plan that has consumed his thoughts for the past two weeks:

_I just need to make it three more days._

_By then, we’ll be well into our trip. Rhett will have had enough time to remember what it’s like when it’s just the two of us. We’ll be totally relaxed and happy and_ together. 

_And then I’ll confess._

_If he feels the same way, we have one more day in paradise together._

_And if he doesn’t… I’m sure we can steer clear of each other until the flight home._

Once the sky is tinged fuchsia, Rhett shifts. His arm brushes against Link’s—toasty, even without sunlight—and he snakes that arm over and around Link’s shoulders.

For a brief moment, Link doesn’t breath. He’s sure he tenses under the affection, and that Rhett can _definitely_ feel it, all unwelcoming muscle and raised hackles. But Link can’t help it. A gesture intended to be brotherly and loving—one of Rhett’s “memory snapshots”, to appreciate the fleeting—is warped by the dang _romantic atmosphere_ , and Link’s head wobbles on his neck.

Rhett must notice that, too, because the side-embrace turns into a conciliatory pat. “Y’okay?”

“Yeah. Think I’m just… gettin’ tired.” What’s one more fib?

“We can head out,” Rhett nods, already fishing out his phone to order a ride. “My back’s been naggin’ at me for the past hour or so anyway.”

“We should go then,” Link agrees, a bit crestfallen.

 _Was worried about_ him _panicking, but I can’t even handle his arm around me._

_How am I s’posed to be ready in three days...?_

* * *

The return ride to their home-away-from-home is quiet. 

Once Rhett’s settled in the back of the Uber, he lets his head rest near the window and loses himself in the outside world in a way that begs Link to wonder what’s going through his mind. It can be hard to tell with him; normally it’s a toss-up between mundane observations and wild, philosophical crap. When alcohol’s part of the mix, Link isn’t sure which way Rhett’s liable to lean.

Following Rhett’s lead of silence, Link watches commercial chain hotels drift by as they softly cruise the streets. Part of him routinely expects their driver to pull into one, but if this was to be a week worth its reason, a hotel like every other trip was never going to cut it; for the plan, Link had booked them a polite and homey beach house. It’s only ten minutes out from the city limits, yet solitary enough that the beach itself feels private. White sands and coarse reeds in the warm periwinkle dusk, all for them.

The drive sobers Link. Once the car is stopped behind their rental in the gravelled way, he hyper-focuses without meaning to: the driver kinda looks like she’s trying not to laugh when she bids them good evening; the car door’s bumpy plastic handle is cool to the touch; and Rhett spills out of the car like he’s been holding his breath for the entire commute, all but running up the driftwood-inspired stairs to let himself inside.

_He’s actin’ like he’s gotta hurl. Great._

_I knew drinking wasn’t the best idea, but it would’ve been weirder if we hadn’t at some point._

Link thanks the driver with less care than he should and ambles after Rhett. He takes his shoes off in the cozy wooden foyer (noting that Rhett hadn’t, with half-hearted irritation), and makes his way into the house. 

There aren’t that many rooms; the stylish kitchen and living room are open-air, and the only other door leads to the forgivingly-nomered “master” bedroom. With a glance at the couch’s pull-out bed and its empty mussed sheets, Link pauses and listens for sounds of sick.

None come.

“Rhett?” he calls curiously, stepping to the bedroom door and stopping. 

Rhett’s splayed on his back in the bed, lying there with his eyes shut and a small smile on his lips. His unbuttoned shirt pools out around him. 

“Hey now,” says Link. “Don’t pass out in my bed.”

“S’mine,” Rhett mumbles through a smirk.

“It’s _not._ You made a whole big thing out of takin’ the living room. Remember that?” Link leans against the door frame, trying not to grin. _This_ is why Rhett had rushed in? So he could stake a claim to his bed like some kinda squatter? Link throws a thumb over his shoulder. “C’mon, man. Get up, before you fall asleep.”

“What if I _do_ fall asleep?” Rhett lolls his head to look down at Link, eyes shining in the inviting lamplight. “What’re you gonna do about it? Not like you can lug me outta here.”

“I could,” protests Link, fighting back every obscene urge that would shut Rhett up right quick. Then he shrugs. “But I’d rather just sleep on the couch. Ain’t a big deal.”

“Naw.” The threat of Link taking the worse option is apparently enough to rouse him. Rhett hikes himself to a sit and shakes out his shoulders. “I’ll go.”

Link smiles and steps aside to watch his defeated mosey into the living room.

_Wish he’d stay._

“You wanna use the bathroom first…?” Link offers, nodding to it, but Rhett waves him off before collapsing on the couch bed.

“I’ll worry about brushin’ and junk in the morning.”

“Gross.” Scrunching his nose, Link runs his tongue over his own teeth and finds them fuzzy from sugary drink. Suddenly he can’t get cleaned up and wash the day away fast enough. “I’m gonna take a shower and hit the hay. Night, Rhett.”

“Wait—Link.”

He turns to find Rhett peering up at him from his bed. 

“Hmm?”

“...Thanks,” Rhett decides, like Link will understand without explanation. Hell, normally he might, but if he’s ever going to fish for specifics, now— _this trip_ —is the time.

“What for...?”

The bed shifts and bounces as Rhett squirms to get comfy, elbowing his pillow. “Just… today was good? This vacation is… it’s nice. Been a while since it was just me an’ you, and...” A pause, while Link waits, piqued. Rhett hums. “I dunno. Guess I needed this.”

Link can’t afford to let it show, but his heart flutters on _“me and you”,_ ‘cause that means Rhett feels it, too. On some level, he also knows it’s better this way—back to the bare bones of why they’d become inseparable in the first place, decades ago. 

No cameras. No crew. No audience. Just _them._

And even if this week ends on something unrequited, at least Rhett won’t be able to take _that_ back. 

“You’re welcome,” Link responds after too much time has passed, but Rhett simply gives him a happy gleam. His head falls back and hits the pillow, dismissing him.

Mind afloat, Link hits the living room light to no protests, then carefully sequesters himself in the bedroom, shutting the door with a timid click. The second he’s alone, he turns and leans back against it noiselessly, closing his eyes and trying to tie the buoyancy in his chest to the soles of his feet. 

_That’s exactly how I hoped he’d feel._

_Just a few more days, and we’ll be—_

No. Keep those wishes at bay, separate from reality.

There’s a real chance Rhett won’t _ever_ think of him that way, and daydreaming about it like it’s a promised future while the plan’s in motion won’t do any good. No high hopes to shoot down. No setting himself up for more hurt than he might already be facing. 

_Either way, it’ll be fine._

_He’ll at least know how I feel, and that’s the whole point._

Centering himself, Link double checks that the bathroom has everything he needs for a shower. He hangs a fluffy white towel on the wall hook, spreads the pink seahorse shower curtain to start a drizzle, and disrobes in methodical thought, folding his glasses and dirty clothes to set them on the counter while the water warms. 

After a quick look over himself in the mirror—he could really stand to shave, but that can wait until morning—he steps into the water and lets all of the stress of the day slough off his shoulders, leaving behind only panned-up good in small victories.

_I didn’t get him drunk._

_He looked incredible today. He always looks incredible, but the air here’s really doin’ something to him, I swear. We said “no Instagram”, but I really wish I could show him off to our fans. They’d lose their minds._

_He admitted he needed a trip alone with me… just me._

_He…_

_He laid down in my bed. I might be able to smell him as I go to sleep._

Letting his head fall back, Link relaxes into the stream of water. In small, absent circles, he rubs the muscles of his neck—more to keep his hands busy than relieve soreness. There’s not much he can do to calm his wandering mind, though, especially when the shower curtain provides cherished privacy against the rest of the house.

_Don’t get too carried away, now._

_If and when the time comes, you’ve got the stuff with you._

_If his answer’s yes, then… you’ll get to surprise him with somethin’._

In an internal checklist, he goes over the frisky forays again: innocuous massage oil, the not-so-innocuous cockring, the pack of condoms… all small and easy to hide, as necessary. _Gracious,_ the thought of actually using any of them—not on himself, but being given permission to use them on _Rhett_? 

If nothing else, maybe Link can give him a back massage with the oil. It probably wouldn’t take a lot of coaxing to get him to lay on his belly with his shirt off. And Link could warm up the oil in his hands… Or not. Maybe the cool liquid meeting Rhett’s hot skin would draw a pretty little gasp from him, or one of those rare-but-lewd groans he doesn’t care to control for some reason. 

Link wouldn’t stop until Rhett was putty in his hands. He’d press on his knots, the strokes against his fatigue deepening to a drawl that Rhett wouldn’t be able to resist. He’d work down his sides and brush against his stomach, feel the barrier of his waistband and trail a finger over it to test the waters. 

Gosh, maybe Rhett would already be _hard_ , grinding into the bed and blaming it on his ticklishness. And maybe he wouldn’t pull away the second time, when Link’s touch was obvious and deliberate—

_Stop._

Ripped from his fantasy, Link blinks hard and pulls his hand from himself mid-stroke, chest rising and falling rhythmically under the slap of water. 

_You can fantasize about this stuff once you know how he feels._

_And if he feels the same? It might actually happen._

_If he doesn’t… well, he’ll never know about what I’ve got in my—_

“Link.”

Eyes falling wide, he holds his breath and stares at the shower curtain. It’s hard to tell over the gentle roar of the water, but that could only be— 

“Hey,” Rhett’s voice comes again, stronger. “Link?”

Remembering himself, Link runs his hands through his hair as if there’s shampoo there, face aflame. He hadn’t even bothered to close the freakin’ bathroom door, since Rhett was _supposed_ to be falling sleep. Hopefully the sounds of what he’d nearly been caught doing hadn’t carried.

“Yeah,” he croaks, but it doesn’t come out, so he tries again. “You need the bathroom?”

“No. I want you to look at this.”

Knitting his brow, Link peeks out of the curtain just enough to reveal his head, painfully aware of his barely-concealed erection. Without his glasses, he can’t see much more than Rhett’s shadow looming outside the bathroom. Shaking his head and steeling himself, he says, “Gotta come closer. S’blurry.”

With odd purpose Rhett does, striding into the small space, and Link bobs back in surprise as he comes into focus. He looks the same as he had a few minutes ago, only now he’s holding up something for Link to inspect. 

“What is this?” Rhett asks, and at the same second, Link’s throat turns to ice.

Gripped in Rhett’s aloft hand is a bundle of sheer fabric that Link would recognize anywhere, even if it weren’t this nightmare. 

Without answering, Link closes the shower curtain out of sheer panic and shuts the water off, staring down his dripping nose as the drain guzzles away. In sudden shock, he needs more time to process this _horrific_ development—to adjust the schedule of their trip in his head as it crashes down around him—but Rhett was never that patient when it came to explanations.

“Link, why do you have _women’s lingerie_ in your suitcase?” The accusation in his voice is a slap to the face. All Link can do is listen, shivering and dripping. “I don’t even know the names for—what are these, socks? And _panties_ …?”

_Just answer him. Pretend it’s not a big deal._

“They’re… they’re stockings,” Link manages with a stiff tongue, jaw set. “Stockings and a, um. Garter belt.”

“So _panties_.”

“No,” Link rebuts, like he can somehow save face with such a trivial detail, “neither of those are panties.”

The following silence grows thick enough to give the steamy air a run for its money. Each pounding heartbeat in Link’s ears mocks him: _idiot, you’ve been caught, no way out._

“Uh-huh,” Rhett eventually responds, loud and open-mouthed. “And _why_ are they in your luggage…?”

“I...” 

Wincing, Link shakes his wet head. He’s not ready for this. Worse than running from it, though, is that he knows what’s going to happen next: he’s going to get defensive, and Rhett’s going to see right through him, and things are going to spiral for the worse. Knowing how it’s gonna happen doesn’t stop him from initiating it, unfortunately. 

“Why’re you _snoopin’ around_ in my stuff, anyway?” Link turns it around, and right on cue, Rhett snorts derisively. 

“I wasn’t snoopin’! I wanted some lotion and you usually bring that kinda stuff, so I was lookin’ for that!”

Link squints and peels back the curtain, just enough to make dripping eye contact. Rhett’s holding the bundle of lingerie to his chest like it’s a baby bird he’s scared of dropping.

“Why’d you want lotion, man?” Link fires back quietly. 

“What?” Rhett’s brow creases in exasperation. “To use. What kind of question is that?”

“You wanted to sneak lotion out of my bag the second I got in the shower…?” Link asks expectantly, trying to glare over the glasses he’s not wearing. “Yeah. Sounds _innocent.”_

“You’re the one with—” Rhett shakes the incriminating discovery again, too dumbfounded to call it what it is. “The hell? Link, seriously, why do you _have these?”_

There are plenty of lies Link could put out there. It’s not like he can’t think of any. 

_I wanted to film a sketch while we’re here._

_I saw them and thought they’d make a good gift for a future lady._

_Stevie asked me to pick her up a souvenir and I thought it’d be funny._

Yeah, any of those would probably at least distract Rhett long enough to buy more time.

Problem is, none of them are the truth. 

And the truth is the only reason Link had booked this vacation in the first place. 

This was supposed to be the week where he told Rhett his feelings. This was supposed to be a turning point for both of them, one way or another—and like it or not, the deadline’s been bumped forward to _now._

If Link lies, it’ll snowball. He won’t come clean later. He won’t be able to confess _anything_ , even if and when the time is right. 

Crap. 

So maybe he can’t lie.

But he can give an incomplete truth.

“They’re mine,” Link states, playing it down with the rise of one shoulder. He grabs the towel from the wall hook and dries himself off briskly, shaking out his hair and trying not to linger on Rhett’s silence. Understandable, but also wildly uncomfortable. By the time Rhett clears his throat, Link is wiping the last droplets off of his thighs.

“They’re yours,” Rhett repeats in a deadpan, and Link lifts his sight to the ceiling.

“Can you step out? I’d like to put on my pajamas.”

“What do you mean, they’re _yours_? You, like… wear these? I’ve never seen you wear stuff like this.”

Link scoffs a laugh. “‘Course you haven’t. It’s not like I’m gonna _strut around_ in ‘em, they’re underwear. They aren’t for just anyone to see me in, Rhett.”

“So…” 

Whatever Rhett wants to say, it takes a long time for him to build up to it—so much, actually, that Link is able to round back to the acute awareness that Rhett has him cornered naked in a bathroom and won’t let him out until he’s done interrogating him about his unmentionables. When Rhett does speak again, it’s quiet and measured.

“Why’d you bring ‘em on this trip?”

Mouth opening and closing, Link is officially out of answers. 

Had the shower been too hot? Every inch of him burns. He takes his time to wrap his towel around his waist and secure it before opening the shower curtain fully, facing Rhett head-on. He’s still just standing there, but his surprised gaze whips up from the lingerie to Link.

They stare. Neither moves; Link isn’t even sure his heart’s still beating. Rhett’s head dips to the side in slow curiosity, waiting. Patient, for once. 

_There’s a chance he’ll take it as a joke, even if it is the truth._

“I know you—you like that kinda stuff.” Link crosses his arms over his bare chest. “Thought I might try wearin’ it for you.”

Yet another stretch of stillness as Rhett weighs that answer. His eyes tighten in clear distrust, but then his face turns thoughtful. Running his tongue over his bottom lip, he nods. 

“Alright.”

Link swallows quietly, tries not to appear as mortified as he feels. Can one word disorient someone like a flash grenade?

“What was that...?”

“Do it,” Rhett instructs. He tosses the soft lump of fabric at Link, who catches it and holds it away from the tub’s wet floor. “I’m calling your bluff. Wear that for me, if that’s why you brought it.”

Fidgeting with the silky folds between his fingers, Link unravels the stockings as far as he’s comfortable with and examines them. They’re the same ones he’d purchased, tried on, spun this way and that in before his mirror at home, wondering if they were sexy enough to make a grown man beg for another man. Black and sheer, with a small ruffle on the thigh-high cinch, and the little red ribbons below. The garter belt is black as well, with the same red lace at the fringe to match. The garters clink together harmlessly in his hand.

If one of them is supposed to break this weird spell by laughing— _haha, I really had you goin’!_ —it’s not happening.

“There… there aren’t any panties,” Link mumbles with hot cheeks. 

Rhett shrugs. “You didn’t pack any. Means you wanted me to see you without ‘em, right?”

Link peeks up at him, lips just parted. “Are you serious?”

Without missing a beat, Rhett tips his head back and watches him, steady. Ready to accept whatever form of challenge this is, no matter how insane it may be. “Are _you_?”

Instantly parched, Link motions to the door. 

“Go sit on the bed. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Rhett spins on his heel obediently, leaving Link alone with only his lingerie and a brew of fear and bubbling, heart-pounding _thrill_ swirling in his gut.

 _He’s acting like he’s… crap, I dunno if he’s_ okay _with it or if he’s just messing with me, but…_

_He seems so sure._

Link holds on to that thought, a somewhat comforting mantra that loops in his head as he lets his towel fall. Shaking fingers pull the stockings up and over his freshly-showered legs, and he slips the garter belt over his hips in trepidation, pushing the door to self-consciously so he can tug and adjust the garments in the mirror until he’s happy with them. Clipping the garters to the stockings is easy enough—and the final result looks pretty much the same as it had when he’d tried it on at home. Perhaps even a little more enticing in a stranger’s rented beach house.

The screaming issue, of course, is that his cock is perfectly framed between thread and ruffle.

There’s a lace-lined window where his length simply _hangs,_ exposed, and seeing himself like this for Rhett—knowing he’s about to walk out there in front of him, and Rhett’s going to see him in _this?_ Link’s getting hard before his own eyes, excited as ever because of that damn unpromised future again. 

He presses a hand down over his arousal to cover and punish it, screwing his eyes shut tight. It’s not going to go away, so he’s just gonna have to work with it.

“You ready?” he calls softly, knowing it’s more for himself than for Rhett. Thankfully, Rhett humors him.

“Yeah, man. Let’s see it.”

The seconds it takes to tiptoe out of the bathroom and go stand in front of Rhett at the foot of the bed pass in lifetimes. It’s slow-motion and sped-up all at once, disjointed and sluggish. But it happens. When he’s done coming out of hiding, he anchors his attention on the floor, past where his bunched hands are trying to hide his intrigue.

_It’s probably obvious, despite my… efforts._

“Tah-dah,” he says lamely.

Rhett doesn’t answer, and that’s the final push Link needs to glance up at him and catch his features twisted in amusement… assuming they are, of course. 

They aren’t.

Rhett is simply staring, eyes slowly raking up and down Link’s lower half—flicking up to rest at the barrier his best friend’s hands have created with a pernicious frown. Link might be imagining it, but Rhett’s ears redden when he shoos Link’s hands away in a scold.

“Commit. Lemme see.”

“Rhett,” Link falters, cupping his hands like that could possibly allow him more privacy. He straightens his back as best he can, smoothes his calves together just for tactile comfort. The material feels nice. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Rhett tents his fingers in front of his mouth before running them through his beard. Link’s thought about doing that so many times, it doesn’t seem fair that he can’t. He’s done this much, after all. This is _way_ worse than being allowed to enjoy his beard.

“‘Cause I’m… at attention,” confesses Link with a grimace, trying to excuse it as quickly as he declares it. “You can’t wear stuff like this and _not_ be.”

“Right,” Rhett nods carefully, those green-gray eyes locking onto Link’s. “And you brought ‘stuff like this’ to wear on our vacation.” His tone suggests he doesn’t understand the gymnastics—like it’s simpler than a trip to a foreign country and a rented beach house and a seven-day plan. Something heavier and matured on a shelf thrums under the surface when Rhett glimpses down at the stockings again, clearing his throat. “Link… did you really pack that for me? To show _me_ …?” 

This time it’s not an accusation. It’s a dark breed of level-headedness that Link’s never seen on him before, and that’s all it takes for it to click into place: 

_We’re getting somewhere._

_It’s really happening._

His voice is barely a whisper when Link nods, “Yeah.”

“Then _show me,_ ” Rhett pleads in a gravel, and Link drops his hands away from himself.

Rhett straightens when his lids fall low on their prize, his lips open in a silent breath, his cheeks warm and getting warmer when he scoots back on the bed and pats his lap, suddenly desperate. 

“Fuck… _fuck._ C’mere, Link.”

Following a script he’d rehearsed in his head thousands of times, Link runs his hands down the garters, pulling them in quick, teasing snaps. He crosses to the bed with newfound courage, a sense of something akin to power coursing through him even as he follows directions. 

When he rests a knee beside Rhett, he thinks he’s being brave—but Rhett is leaps and bounds ahead of him, _ready for this_ with one large hand on his waist to pull him down into his care. 

Then Rhett’s touch is everywhere: gliding up the sides of Link’s thighs to feel his stockings, slipping underneath the garters and squeezing handfuls of muscle, sliding below the lacy belt to massage Link’s hip bones with his thumbs—like he’s been rehearsing this, too, and knows the script better than Link.

_Holy crap._

Link doesn’t have time to process anything. With his full weight in Rhett’s lap and his legs around Rhett’s waist, he can feel that he’s far from alone in his excitement; Rhett is hard in his joggers, prodding at the curve of Link’s ass—needy, even through fabric.

_How long has he wanted me—_

Rhett growls when Link lets out a breathy gasp of realization. The rumble hits Link square in the chest, where Rhett leans in and doesn’t wait for permission to lick along his collarbone, hot breath lighting the wet swathe like a fuse. 

“Oh—Rhett, oh, _gosh,”_ Link hisses, tilting his chin back to let Rhett lavish him with attention. 

The licks are a tantalizing hybrid of open-mouthed kisses and nibbles, each one purring as it finds a home, following the dip and bevel of Link’s bones and breast. Rhett’s hands haven’t stopped; they seem to be exploring without a goal, yet dance around the one place Link _wishes_ they would find. Not that he’s in any position to complain when Rhett’s fingers curl around his waist, bracing him gently for a phantom thrust of their bodies. 

Just one grind makes Link’s thighs tremble. _“Ahh!”_

“Can’t resist giving in, can ya?” Rhett smiles, moving up to his neck. Purposefully toying with him, pulling and sucking. Leaving little marks, Link hopes.

“Never wanted to resist,” Link sighs. The reply sounds silly on his lips, but he doesn’t care. It’s true. It’s admission—and it _feels_ _good_ to say it, and better yet, Rhett’s smiling at his throat.

_Now. Right now, or never._

_I won’t get a better time._

“Rhett—Rhett, wait. I need to tell you something.”

“You’re in love with me,” Rhett guesses, easy as the breeze. He doesn’t even stop his quest to cover Link in hickeys, just blurts it out like it’s obvious and goes on with his work. And hell, even though Link has finished into his own fist imagining _this exact moment_ —the precipice where their guards would shatter and there’d be an end to the things they don’t talk about—the _flippancy_ with which Rhett says it burns him up.

Link leans away, knowing Rhett will catch him from falling to the floor, which he does. When their eyes meet, Rhett is flushed from neck to ears, his pupils wide enough to drown in, his long curls already wild even though Link’s hands have been glued to his shoulders, holding on for dear life. 

Rhett hesitates, hefting Link’s weight once.

“What’s up?”

“You knew,” Link monotones, and Rhett nods.

“Yep. You’re really obvious about it.”

_Wow. Okay, that… kinda hurts, but… fair enough, I guess._

_He_ has _known me my entire life. If anyone would know, it’d be him._

“So… you’re…” Hedging, Link’s face pinches, hoping Rhett will help him out. When he stares back blankly, Link sighs. “So you, uh. How do _you_ feel...?”

“Oh.” Mustache twitching in thought, Rhett considers the ceiling for a moment. “I’m okay with it.”

“... _Okay_ with it?” Link clarifies, incredulous.

“Yeah. It don’t bother me,” Rhett answers, not a care in the world. “I like it, actually. Been dyin’ to screw ya senseless for 20 years now, Link.”

Man-turned-deer-in-headlights, Link cannot wrap his head around _that_. He blinks rapidly—is reminded of their position by Rhett’s hands squeezing his waist, greedy, flirting with his love handles. 

“Really,” is what Link settles on.

“Really. Can’t believe you brought this for me,” Rhett mumbles, checking in with the lingerie like it might’ve vanished in the seconds they’d stopped. “You really wanna do this...?”

“I—y-yeah,” Link nods. 

Why is this so easy for Rhett? Why is it coming naturally for him, without any heaviness or baggage, when Link’s been pent up and tearing his hair out and watching his tongue for _years_ , ready to change his name and skip town if Rhett found out? 

And now he just _knows? Has_ known?

“Rhett.” Link stays him with a hand on his chest, a little bitter at the tank top between. “Do you… d’you love me, too?”

Rhett takes a second to chew on the inside of his cheek as he searches Link’s features, and honestly, that’s all the answer Link needs. 

He might be sitting in his lap. He might have marks on his neck from willingness, eagerness. He might have brought lingerie and massage oil and other toys in hopes that Rhett felt the same. But the truth of it is right in front of him, currently trying to sugar-coat his response as a nick slices through Link’s heart.

“Probably not the way you love me,” Rhett decides after some time, gentle and caring even when harmful. They’re the consolatory words of a best friend who doesn’t want to be a source of pain, but can’t avoid it, either. Swift and inevitable. “I’m sorry, Link. I know that’s… definitely not what you wanted to hear.” 

Even as he’s doling out wrong answers and apologies, Rhett pulls him into a hug, allowing Link to lean on him and feel his warmth and his heartbeat. 

It’s too much to register—the whiplash of the get-up and the confession and the _I like it_ , followed by what should be a massive, devastating loss? It overwhelms. Numbs over everything except the lasting reality of their bodies’ closeness, the only thing Link can hold between his hands and _know…_ and have, should he still want it.

_I’ve still come this far._

_This is still something I’ve dreamed about… and I can have it, even if he doesn’t feel the same way. I can still get something from what he_ does _want._

Rhett’s embrace tightens in a way that feels too loving. He strokes Link’s back. “I understand if you don’t want to—”

“No, I do. We’re _gonna,_ ” Link presses. And with that, he redirects his rejection and shoves Rhett back onto the bed, not waiting to fall on top of him and crash their mouths together.

If Rhett doesn’t want to kiss, he has an awful way of showing it. 

Each fights to be the first to lick into the other’s mouth, to taste one another for the first time. Had Rhett’s fantasies included this, too? Link has lived it out in his head thousands of times, and the taste of whiskey and spit—the latter, the taste of his best friend Rhett and _only_ Rhett—is one he couldn’t have imagined in a million years.

The dumb and unnecessary conversation of spilt hopes might as well not have happened. Link can pretend it hadn’t, anyway.

Rhett’s hands are frantic to re-learn the briefly lost sensation of what Link’s thighs feel like under the snug of stocking ruffles, and Link wrestles with Rhett’s clothing in turn, somehow yanking off his overshirt and tank top in their frenzy. When their bare chests press together for the first time, Rhett lets out a timid moan that Link pairs with a throaty whimper.

“You’re so _warm_ ,” Link notes as Rhett chuckles, “You feel _really_ good.” 

Their movement is strangely synchronized, for being on different steps of the same dance.

It’s bursts of need and pauses to luxuriate, building and ebbing and breaking like the tides outside. _Do this_ and _I just wanna feel_ and _been thinkin’ about this_ , occasionally sprinkled in with the obnoxious siren screaming in Link’s brain: _you won’t get this again. Really go for it. Get him addicted to you._ That little siren has some good ideas.

“Want your cock,” Link husks through a sloppy kiss. He reaches down blindly to grab and yank at Rhett’s pants, sending a full-body shiver through the man beneath him, along with a hushed, “Oh, _gosh_ , Link.” 

Rhett’s arousal frees and returns to his abs faithfully, thick and leaking. Careful not to get too entranced (lest either of them reconsider), Link sits back just long enough to drink in his fill of his effect. Rhett’s twitching just so, _ready_ for him _,_ hot flush radiating from his skin. If Rhett’s bashful about the quick viewing, he doesn’t try to stop him.

Then Link eases back down and takes his best friend’s cock, stroking it between them, careful to spread Rhett’s precum to ease any friction.

Rhett dissolves into a long, low moan that resonates in Link’s very bones. He lets his head fall back to the bed, and Link again wishes he could take a picture—those eyebrows tight, those long lashes as Rhett looks up at him dreamily, those lips forming breaths and silent pleas that look an awful lot like _“Link.”_

Smirking, Link leans down and plants his mouth in the shell of Rhett’s ear. Something impish curls in his gut, keen to be put into breathy words.

“I’m gonna make you _come_ , Rhett.”

In a word: harrowing. Rhett gasps hard and lets it out in a reckoned, shivering moan, his entirety tensing under Link, his hands secured to Link’s apparently-irresistible hips like a lifeline in a storm. Grinning, Link continues, content to spill filthy specifics into his ear—things only _he_ would want to hear.

“You like listenin’ to my voice while you’re gettin’ off? Knowing it’s me doin’ this to you? _Fuck,_ Rhett—if you’ve wanted this for as long as I have, you should know I’m gonna _ruin_ you. God, I can’t wait. To finally hear you. To _see_ you come, because of me.” A quick, unplanned kiss to Rhett’s sweaty temple—one for which Link quickly chastises himself. 

Butt Rhett’s gasping, lost in it, and Link closes his eyes to speak. “You wanna be inside of me, Rhett...? Been keepin’ myself ready for ya, even before the trip. Fuckin’ myself sore with toys in my bedroom. Was hopin’ you’d get so pissed one day you’d just use me—”

“ _Please,”_ Rhett outright begs, timbre cracking. His hand flies down to catch Link’s wrist and stop the merciless hand job, delaying his own release pretty admirably. “Link—Jesus Christ! This—it’s amazing, but it’s also _torture,_ you little cocktease! Good God!”

The frantic response sends a burning trill up Link’s spine, and he waits. Hoping for more.

Rhett acquiesces in a fragile groan.

“It’s no wonder I’ve been losing my damn mind wantin’ you! For fuck’s sake, I’m only human—have you _seen_ yourself?!” The words carry a searing heat all their own, snaking through Link’s body and wringing it tight as his eyes widen. Rhett latches onto that, too, seeking shelter in the sky blue. “Your _eyes._ And your waist, and your lips? I just…”

Interrupting his own tirade, Rhett’s free hand finds and clamps on Link’s chin to pull their mouths together, and even though he’s on top, Link feels small this time. _Owned._ Rhett’s pent-up frustrations have earned him this much, and he’s demanding and starved even as he’s getting it, trying to coax sounds of want from Link’s throat and succeeding embarrassingly well.

“Okay,” Link gasps into the kiss, shivering when he can’t take any more. “We gotta— _please_.”

Rhett nods, just as drunk with it. “Finally! Lemme feel you _on me_ , baby.”

_Baby._

_Do all men use cutesy pet names when they fuck, or is that just from him, for me?_

Moving to straddle his hips, Link reaches back (courtesy of much at-home private practice) and takes Rhett’s cock in his careful fingers. Suddenly grateful for the lack of panties, he bites his lip and guides their bodies together. Rhett’s head slicks against his puckered skin, and Link’s eyes fall closed with a restrained tremor. 

_This is the last moment where I’ve never had sex with Rhett._

A silly thought, but one in a list of thousands of firsts and lasts for their relationship. 

Link sinks his weight, and for the rest of his life, he knows he’ll be able to vividly recall exactly what it felt like to have Rhett push inside of him. The blushing, clipped, _“Oh,”_ Rhett had let out as they’d finally joined, his eyes hooded and drunk off the sight sitting atop him.

Link can’t help but smile once he’s settled, gazing down at this version of his partner, dazed-and-content. Blissed out like the deed’s already done, like even _beginning_ to scratch a twenty-year itch is the most sublime thing he’s ever experienced—and damn, Link hopes it is. 

He’s in love with Rhett, after all. This was never about getting himself off; this is about getting to see a side of Rhett that he might never have another chance to see.

(Unless he does his job well, of course.)

With a quiver, Link braces his hands on Rhett’s stomach and begins to move. It’s slow and tender, adoration charading under a cape of coy—but Rhett doesn’t try to take charge. He simply lays there, a ride to be enjoyed, his fingers twitching against the blankets and _still_ he’s staring up at Link in raptured awe.

_Good._

Link lets his eyes close and lolls his head back to expose his neck, keeping the gentle rock of his hips somewhere between unfair and unkind. This is already set to be a fleeting ordeal. The sooner he speeds up, the sooner it’ll be over, so he can at least take this moment to appreciate the details of it before it’s gone: he can feel Rhett’s heartbeat inside of him, fast, even though he’s the one at rest; and in his memory, Rhett’s sex will always smell like his warm sweat and _their_ precum, as Link is leaking on him; and then there’s how their bodies seem to fit together seamlessly, like they really were _made_ for each other, and how unfortunate it is that it isn’t meant to—

“I love you too.”

Mind blanking, Link stops. 

He opens his eyes softly and brings his sight back down to Rhett before blinking.

“What?”

“I—crap. I said ‘I love you too’,” Rhett tries again, looking every inch the piece of shit he clearly feels he is.

And Link doesn’t mean to, but those words fuel him to keep going—to rock his hips a bit harder than before and crumble a furtive moan from those same vocal chords.

“What d’you mean?” he asks, eyes hard. Rhett’s hands leave the bed to float around his waist, but Link bats them back down to exile, annoyed. _“Rhett!”_

“I don’t know why I said I didn’t!” Rhett’s dam breaks and he’s hit with another full-body shiver, forcing himself to maintain eye contact through anxious backtracking. “I _do_ love you—I’m _in_ love with you, but I think I only realized it just now. Like… lookin’ up at you, and… havin’ this,” he explains, nodding to the entirety of Link. “Look, I know I’m—we’re doin’ stuff, and it might seem like I’m just a horndog sayin’ it to make you happy. But I w-want this experience to be honest, and that means tellin’ you I love you. ‘Cause I feel it. I do.”

“Would’ve been nice to hear that _fifteen minutes ago,_ you asshole!” Link wails through a bubbling smile.

_He said he loves me._

_He’s in love with me, too._

“Say it again,” Link demands, and Rhett nods with conceding eyes, knowing this part of repentance.

“I love you.”

“Who? Who are you in love with?”

“You, Link, I—I love _you_.”

Smile breaking to a grin, Link pins Rhett down by the sternum, riding him in elated earnest—watching as Rhett tenses beneath him, as his eyes roll back in his head. Rhett’s knuckles go rigid in the sheets before that’s not good enough, and again he makes a feeble attempt at participation, like he’ll suffocate if he’s not allowed.

“L-Link, please,” he very nearly whines, “your hips...?”

Happy to have the reins, Link collects Rhett’s hands and mercifully secures them to his lingerie’d sides, letting Rhett feel the effort and enthusiasm it takes to fuck him like a fixture. He barely has time to warn, “Don’t interfere, just hold me,” before Rhett shatters into a loud moan, swept under at being used. The man fights hard to keep his eyes open and on Link, paying him proper mind for his show.

Once re-steadied, Link lets out a deep sigh and snaps his hips between Rhett’s palms, focusing only on how Rhett is locked up in ecstasy, and that it’s _him_ keeping him in that state of teetering bliss. Hard not to feel good about himself, if he can make Rhett feel like _this._

Sweat tingles and slicks the bottoms of his thighs, freeing Link’s movement, and it doesn’t take long to find a harsh rhythm good for both their libidos. Rhett’s cock teases and rubs against the spot Link had rarely managed to hit on his own, pushing him swiftly towards the release he’s trying so desperately to give Rhett. 

Damn, if it hadn’t snuck up on him.

“Rhett!” Link pats Rhett’s stomach in ragged-breathed warning. 

Rhett mistakes his tattered name as lust and gasps back in wrecked agreement, “Oh _fuck,_ Link, you’re so good…!”

“Rhett, I’m—sorry, I’m ‘bout to cum all over you,” Link motions weakly, thinking that’ll snap Rhett out of his reverie. 

It does not. 

One of Rhett’s hands abandons Link’s waist and finds the back of his head, dragging him down for a kiss so vital their teeth clack. It’s short-lived; Rhett can’t maintain himself for anything so tender. Instead he presses their foreheads together, his nose hard against Link’s as his mouth falls open. His first exhale is a disbelieving, curt whimper, and Link watches, humbled, as Rhett zips their sights together and comes for him. Groaning hard and loud enough to tickle Link’s ear drums while warmth fills him.

_Perfect._

Link isn’t expecting it when Rhett bucks up desperately in a plea for Link to join him before it’s too late, before he’s spent, and all of it—the culmination of countless nights and days spent wanting this slams into Link, reduces him to a shaking mess, spilling out into the slight space between their bodies as Rhett holds him and shivers.

_Perfect, perfect, perfect._

World returning in a tingly haze, Link feels like he wakes from one dream into another there on Rhett’s chest. The only thing assuring him of reality is the sharp ache in his legs from being bent too long. Wordlessly he begins to move, and Rhett’s right there with him to help him lie down and curl into his side.

Their heavy heaving ekes away, supplemented with a consuming quietude only broken by the faint crash of waves outside. More than anything, Link wants to submit to the moment and drift to sleep, having obtained the unobtainable and heard the unbelievable. 

But that’s just the thing: he needs to hear it again to believe it. Just one more time, before he surrenders control.

“Rhett?” he starts, and instantly a large hand smooths down Link’s shoulder, brushing away his insecurities as easily as he always has.

“I love you,” Rhett confirms with a smile before Link can ask. “I’m in love with you, Link. Sorry I… lied? Or didn’t realize in time to say it back, I guess.” 

He really does know—in a very specific, intimate way—exactly how Link frets.

Link lets out the last of his stress in an amused puff of air. “I love you too. You jerk.” 

Weightless enough to float up and receive an apologetic kiss on his damp forehead, Link sneaks a peek at Rhett, but ends up blushing when Rhett’s already looking back at him. “You planned this trip, didn’t you?” Rhett wonders again—and this time, Link chuckles, glad to have that small weight off his shoulders.

“Yeah. You caught me.”

“Just to tell me you love me? An entire vacation?” Wiggling his fingers to the hidden tropics outside, Rhett laughs. “You could’ve told me you were in love with me on the drive to work. You’ve been wining and dining me for 35 years, Link. I ain’t _that_ old-fashioned.”

“Shut up!” Link joins him in euphoric laughter, batting his arm playfully. 

Then, Link realizes he can do more—he can have gentler things. Things that aren’t masquerading as jokes or stolen and frantic. Awed, he twists and reaches up to Rhett’s beard and fetters his fingers through it meticulously, taking in the way those golden strands reflect the lamplight. How the ones at his jawline are turning gray, and how they’re just as precious as they’ve always been.

“But I guess then we wouldn’t have had panty sex,” Rhett mutters, still on that because of course he is, and Link snorts into a defeated head shake. “Panty-less sex? You know what I mean.”

Unable to help it, Link shifts and wiggles, sidling closer to Rhett. Feeling another kind of high when Rhett rests his chin on his head and breathes deep, like he also wants the small things proximity forgives. 

“Y’know…” Link smirks, “according to my plan, we weren’t supposed to get frisky ‘til our last night here.”

“Oh, yeah? Well. Sorry to ruin your plan.” Link can _hear_ the eye roll in Rhett’s response.

“S’okay. I just think it’s kinda funny that you didn’t see the _other_ stuff in my suitcase,” Link drawls, tracing a finger near the mess on Rhett’s stomach.

Rhett cocks his head back, gazing down at him. “What? What other stuff?”

“Nope. We were gonna have sex one time while we were here, and you rescheduled it to tonight, sooo...”

“ _Link._ ”


End file.
